


Soldier of Entropy

by Grushenka



Series: Planes of Destiny [2]
Category: Baldur's Gate, Planescape (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Absent Parents, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Origin Story, guild wars - Freeform, sigil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-04-04 18:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14026074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grushenka/pseuds/Grushenka
Summary: Haer'Dalis unwillingly returns to Sigil, his home, and finds it ripped apart by a guild war. Will he support the destructive mission of the Doomguard's most fervent faction lead by his brother, Roth? Or will he aid the unlikely new leader Spragg as he attempts to keep the guild from self-destructing? Can he face a past that he thought he left behind? Can he forget the love he left behind?





	1. Epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at [ @igrushenka](https://igrushenka.tumblr.com/)

Introducing my second story, a continuation of Haer'Dalis' travels after he leaves Faerun and returns to Sigil. This story runs simultaneously to Planes of Destiny, and there will be bits of linking information interspersed throughout future PoD chapters as well. This first chapter is a quick epilogue, it is my conception of HD's background. No canon whatsoever, because I don't believe there is any, anyways. 

I'll be posting chapters to both stories, this one should only be about 4-6 chapters long. Still a work in progress.

 

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The flickering candlelight cast shadows across the walls of his room. He took a deep breath and placed the sheaf of papers before him, their rustling echoed in the sparsely decorated bedroom. His mother’s handwriting, his mother’s perfume, the last vestiges of his memory of her. She was beautiful, terrifying, she knew little of motherhood but provided for him as best she could. A cold woman, her hair the palest blonde, eyes that were deep and black as coal. She loved him, in her own way, but that brought him little comfort in the years after she left. 

He thumbed through the well-worn pages, he had memorized every line, every detail. Anastrianna, that was her name, she called herself Ana. Her family name was Galanodel, she made a note of the elven translation, Moonwhisper. 

She spoke only a few times of the moon, heavy with the melancholy that too often clouded her days, her eyes would glisten with a rare emotion. He had never seen the moon, but he spent his youth longing to escape their cage, hoping someday to feel the light of the sun on his face. 

She warned him to never tell anyone of his true heritage, she was from a people who were hunted in her homeland. A cruel, vindictive people, children of sun elves and tanar’ri. She most often disguised her true form, but when she was in the Pits with her own kind she felt free to let loose her massive, leathery wings and long, pointed tail. 

He turned to a page with a sketch of a young elf, a male with broad cheekbones and soft eyes. His father, as she remembered him, her neat handwriting became more erratic on these pages. She had been sent out to hunt for elves, her kind had suffered great losses and were bolstering their ranks with kidnapped sun elves they forced into reproduction. It was a task she did not particularly enjoy, but failure was punished severely and so she went out, each week, into the woods surrounding Luruar. Seduction, brute force, enchantment, it mattered not, they all succumbed to her in the end. Until one cold winter morning, in the light of a rising sun, beneath snow-laden branches and a clear, blue sky. 

 

\------------------------------------

 

She had set out alone early that morning, under the stars, she had scouted a secluded path that connected two of the more remote elven outposts in the High Forest. The cold was oppressive, the brisk air burned her lungs and she shivered as she pulled her fur collar tighter around her neck. She waited for a few hours, her only company the few woodland creatures who began to stir from their rest. Winter was the worst season for hunting, it was miserable and the least successful. Few traveled in the deep snow, it often took weeks before she could find a suitable prize. 

The sound of crunching snow echoed in the distance, her sensitive ears could tell that they were moving towards her, from the east. Someone was traveling alone, the sun was appearing in the horizon and made it difficult for her to see who was approaching. She shifted her weight on the branch, her legs were stiff from hours of crouching. 

Minutes went by and the figure drew closer, she could begin to make out details of their appearance. A fur coat covered their head and shoulders, his size and frame marked him clearly as male, but she could see loose waves of blue hair that spilled out from under the hood. She cursed to herself, a damned Teu-tel-quessir, another moon elf. Other hunting parties would kill them on sight, but since she was alone she would leave him be, she had no issue with his kind. She was born after the imprisonment, she bore no ill will for things done centuries ago. 

He continued walking towards her, his footsteps seemed deafening compared to the silence of the forest. She watched him, curious as to where he had come from, or where he was going at this hour of the morning, alone. He did not seem to notice her, she remained perfectly still as he passed beneath her tree. Only after he had gone a few paces past did she allow herself to breathe. 

Suddenly, he paused. Her hand moved reflexively to the throwing knife that was strapped to her thigh. He glanced around him, as he turned she could see a pale face with heavy cheekbones and bright eyes that darted back and forth across the snowy landscape. His hand was at his side, gripping the hilt of a sword that was tucked beneath his thick coat. She reached into a bag at her waist for an invisibility potion, she usually saved them for more dire emergencies than this but she was loathe to search for new hunting grounds. It had taken her long enough to find this one. As she uncorked the bottle and brought it to her lips his eyes snapped up and locked on hers. They were a striking shade of green, some combination of emeralds and young moss, with flecks of topaz speckled throughout. 

“Hey!” he yelled as she scrambled to jump to another branch. “Wait!”

She ignored him and swung herself onto another snowy limb. Her left foot slipped as she tried to pull herself up. _Curse this damn snow!_ she thought as she tried again to lift herself onto the branch. 

“You’re going to fall!” he cried up at her. She looked down to see that he was running towards the tree. She managed to hoist herself onto the branch, but did not see that beneath the snow was a layer of ice. Her foot slipped against as she attempted to leap to yet another branch, but this time she completely lost her balance. She was eight feet up in the air, at least, and the snow on the ground would only cushion her fall so much. Time slowed as she plummeted downwards.

He leaped towards her, his long arms caught her mid-fall and they tumbled to the forest floor, a tangle of limbs and fur. Immediately she sprang to her feet, her hands ready to grip the daggers at her waist. The male elf groaned and pulled himself up on one elbow. 

“Is that how you thank someone for saving your life?” he asked as he tried to sit up. His eyes glanced up to meet hers, his breath felt as if it has been sucked from his chest. She was beautiful, her eyes were two obsidian jewels in a sea of golden skin and hair. His eyes did not leave hers as he rose to his feet. 

“What is an Ar-tel-quessir doing out here, alone?”

She said nothing. Her eyes darted nervously from his face to his hands, she was watching him carefully to see if he would try anything. 

“Particularly up in a tree at this hour of morning?”

Her fingers twitched at the hilt of her daggers, she glanced over her shoulder. Surely she could run away, she was a quick enough sprinter, but if he tracked her, the others could be found. She knew she should kill him but something stopped her, some strange apprehension gripped her and stayed her hand. 

“Can you….talk?” 

“Of course I can talk,” she spat in reply. “I do not make a habit of speaking to strangers.” Her regal mouth was pressed in a firm line, her golden brows furrowed. 

“Are you ok? Are you injured?” 

She snorted and crossed her arms over her chest as he rose to his feet. “I do not need your concern, _thaes_.”

“I’m concerned all the same, that was quite a fall. You still haven’t told me what exactly you were doing up there, by the way.”

“That is because it is none of your business.” 

He laughed and dusted the snow off of his fur coat. “Suit yourself, my enigmatic huntress.”

“I could ask the same of you,” she replied, her arms still tightly crossed.

“That would be a reasonable question, one that I am afraid I cannot answer, I merely…” he paused and gave a small sigh. “I felt the need to wander, I desired some measure of solitude and lost my own way in these godforsaken woods.” His lips parted in a rakish grin. “I surely did not anticipate being graced with a angel falling from the heavens, as it were.” 

Her eyes opened wide at his poor attempt at flattery. He noticed her look and laughed, a bright, mirthful sound that echoed through the empty woods. A pleasant sound, one she was not accustomed to hearing. 

“I see you amuse yourself,” she said sternly. 

“I wished to amuse you, _veluthe_ , but I see I have failed.” His eyes sparkled with mischief.

“T-thank you,” she said, her mouth stumbling over the words. “I appreciate your assistance, but, I must go.”

“So soon?” 

“Yes,” she said firmly as she turned to walk towards another tall tree.

“Will I ever see you again?” he asked. She stopped in her tracks and paused. Slowly, she turned back to face him. 

“You should hope not, Teu-tel-quessir,” she said, her voice soft but serious. Quickly she darted to the nearest tree and hoisted herself up into the branches. Her strong, agile legs carried her across the branches, she carefully leaped between the heavy boughs. It was difficult, but she would need to be some distance away before she could drop to the ground again. The poor fools who allowed themselves to be tracked were tortured first, then executed. 

She turned back only once, to glance back at the moon elf standing in the deep snow. She would remember his face, it came to her in dreams, always the same. He didn’t age in her dreams, he didn’t die in her dreams, she could keep him there, forever. It was that image she sketched one long, dark night, in the depths of despair and loneliness. She watched her young son as he slept soundly in their bed, his tiny chest rising and falling with each breath. He would never know his father, he would never remember those gentle eyes and the way they looked at him, full of adoration and amazement. She would draw him, she would create the memory for him.

 

\--------------------------------------

 

His mother didn’t love, not in any conventional sense of the word, but she did have a streak of fierce loyalty towards him and the few she cared about. She was a Fey’ri, a sworn enemy of all other elves. However, she was one of the few who were not consumed by the fiendish blood that ran in their veins. She did not enjoy cruelty but she certainly was not a benevolent creature. Prone to fits of ill temper, capricious, sometimes falling into spells of deep depression, his mother was a difficult woman. 

Her first meeting with his father was not her last, ‘chance’ encounters soon became a clandestine love affair. If either had been discovered, it would have meant certain death. It was a dangerous game that they played. When she fell pregnant they decided that they would steal away together, they hoped to find refuge in some distant land. His mother knew her kind would never accept a moon elf mongrel as one of their own, but she also knew that if she tried to leave, they would hunt her down. The Fey’ri did not forgive betrayal. His father’s kind were similarly unforgiving of a half-Fey’ri bastard child, they would kill it at birth. They had no choice, they were forced to flee. 

They traveled south, his father had heard of a place where they could find gateways to other lands, even other planes. He was a traveler, himself, in the years before he met Ana, he had heard strange tales of far-off places where races lived in relative harmony. Where Ana and his child could live in peace, with him, in their true form. 

His mother’s writings grew choppy at this point, incoherent in sections, but from what he could gather the freedom was short-lived. His father did not survive long after his birth, he sacrificed himself to a Fey’ri hunting party so that she could escape with their child. She reached the Wild Goose Inn in Arabel and flung herself into one of the portals, somehow ending up in the Outlands surrounding Sigil. 

The years after that he could remember, somewhat, he knew he spent his younger years in the Pits. His mother found work as a whore in Lilith’s Den, a demon brothel of no small repute. Her beauty was well-known in the city and she had a long list of frequent customers. His childhood was pleasant enough but it left him with a strong dislike for the tanar’ri, he had seen too much of their stomach-turning predilections. His mother protected him, for the most part, but she knew they couldn’t stay in the Pits forever. One of her clients, a wealthy merchant tiefling by the name of Melech Salrakas, took a particular liking to her and requested her hand in marriage. 

So they moved to a well-appointed estate in the Clerk’s Ward, the affluent area for bureaucrats and businessmen. Melech had a son, Roth, from his first marriage. His wife had died many years before, and fortunately for him Roth accepted his new brother and step-mother without hesitation. They became close, inseparable at times, those were the best of his childhood memories. Trips to the Civic Festhall with his mother and Roth, the occasional play, he could remember one bawdy comedy that had his mother laughing so hard she fought back tears. She protected him from Melech’s drunken rages, as did Roth, but he could see how it affected her. The bars of her cage were gilded, her perch luxurious, but it was nonetheless a prison. 

She could only tolerate it for a few more years before she cracked. A bundle of papers was all she left, it was the only explanation she could offer. She forbade him from following her, she instructed him to hide their true identity, she told him to never attempt to find her. There were no apologies. She had done her best, for as long as she could, and then she was gone. 

When Roth introduced him to the Doomguard, it was as if he had finally found his true home. This was his life, this was his truth, entropy, the end of all things. 

His hand glided across the smooth, well-worn pages. The bitterness in his heart faded long ago, but still, sometimes, he wondered whatever became of his beautiful, misfortunate mother. 

His name was written in her curved, neat script. He ran a finger over it, tracing the letters. 

“Haer’Dalis”

Ar-tel-quessir- sun elf  
thaes- stranger  
veluthe- beautiful


	2. Citadel Sealt

So for some reason I thought writing things from Haer'Dalis' perspective would be easier? It gets really, reaaaally introspective. This may end up being more chapters than I had anticipated, I'm having a hard time sticking to my outline because HD's thoughts keep interrupting. I hope it works, my goodness is he hard to write!

 

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 _There is nothing in this life but mist,_  
_And we will only be alive,_  
_for a short time._

-Aisling’s song

 

\-------------------------------

 

Haer’Dalis strapped the all-too familiar mask onto his face, the motion of his hands was more memory than will. The sound as the leather tightened, the scent of it, the feel of the air pulling the moisture from his skin and hair. All of it was unpleasant in its familiarity. They had travelled to the Quasielemental Plane of Salt, the home of Pentar’s favored inner sect of the Doomguard. It was an unwelcoming place that offered naught but death to any unfortunate creature without protective magics or gear. Citadel Sealt rose above the rocky landscape, a fortress of the Doomguard of Salt. His home, once. It was a long journey from the flat plain they had been spat onto from the planar vortex.

He followed behind the hulking form of his brother Roth and the slender, wraith-like woman at his side, Zem. Raelis was already gone, she had taken her money and fled yet again. He wondered, in a fleeting curiosity, how much Roth had paid her. How much was he worth, now?

They marched together in silence, the masks made it difficult to speak and the terrain was dull and monotonous. Haer'Dalis was alone with his thoughts, they raced through his mind unabated. It appeared that Roth had been promoted to take Pentar’s place as Doomlord of Salt. Pentar must have been made factol, the leader of the entire faction, however Roth mentioned that she had recently gone missing. It was not unusual in Sigil for people to disappear. Mazing was the Lady of Pain’s preferred method of disposal, or punishment, depending on the perspective. It did not matter to the Lady if the offending party was a beggar or a factol, no one was safe from her swift judgment.

Pentar was his lover, for a time. He assumed that she took her liberties with her faithful as the mood struck. Ely Cromlich, the cambion blacksmith and overseer of the Armory, was her only publicly acknowledged paramour. Haer’Dalis would have died for Pentar, gladly. She was a terrible, beautiful woman, a walking contradiction and the human embodiment of what the Doomguard represented. Pentar thrived on chaos and destruction, entropy could not come quickly enough for her, she sowed the seeds of discord and strife wherever she went. She was an intoxicating, maddening lover, one with a streak of savagery that gave as much pleasure as pain. Wild hair, wilder eyes still, hands that would strike as quickly as they would caress.

The doubts came later, he tried to shrug them off as mere boredom or restlessness but they continued to plague him. The accelerationists were the most violent faction, the most active in their pursuit of entropy, and Haer’Dalis had pledged himself to their cause without hesitation. Why would anyone _wait_ for destiny to unfold when so many living creatures were actively hindering entropy? There had to be a countermeasure, the Doomguard would undo the work of mortals and gods alike who wanted to preserve, rebuild, reproduce. But then Pentar began to speak of unravelling the very fabric of the universe, she worked to develop magical constructs that could eat away at the foundations of the planes. Her ambition became everything to her, her goal was total destruction, annihilation on a grand scale. Haer’Dalis began to sense a distance between him and the others, there were unspoken doubts growing in his mind.

He met Raelis one night in a local tavern, he approached her after watching the Sigil Troupe’s performance. A quick mutual seduction was followed by an invitation to travel with her and within a few days he was gone. She needed new actors for her troupe, he needed an escape.

He left without a word, no explanation to the others, save a short note to his brother. Roth had come fully under Pentar’s influence, Haer’Dalis had no doubt that there would be resentment between them. His brother had little patience for his flighty ways or artistic interests, Roth was a man of simple tastes. Swords and fists. Haer’Dalis was never quite sure if Roth actually believed in any of the philosophy that underpinned the Doomguard, or if it was just the well-stocked armory and opportunity for violence. Regardless, his brother was a cunning man, armed with flexible morals, an easy smile, and a terrific right hook.

They were close, when they were young, Roth was relieved when his father remarried, he thought maybe it would slow the downward spiral of Melech’s alcoholism. Roth protected Haer’Dalis, the tiefling’s first fistfights were with his own father, drunk. Melech was a giant ox of a man, much like Roth, he could see the similarities in the confident swagger of his brother as he strode through the gates of Citadel Sealt.

Haer’Dalis had been a thin, small boy, his greatest attributes were his quick hands and handsome face. He also had a way with words, a natural fluency of verse that his mother said reminded her of his father. Roth’s protection eventually became unnecessary as Haer’Dalis learned that a honeyed tongue could extricate him from all but the most difficult of situations. He chuckled to himself as he recalled the endless hours he spent grooming his thick mane of gray-blue hair, carefully weaving locks of it with golden threads. He learned many skills from the whores at Lilith’s Den, he would filch little pots of oils and creams to use on his own hair and skin, sometimes even a stick of kohl to trace beneath his jet black eyes.

 _Beauty’s sister is vanity, and its daughter lust._ His fingers trailed involuntarily to the scars on his cheeks, but were stopped by the leather mask covering them. The initiation was a binding ceremony, strips of his flesh bound his entropic sword to him, and he to it. Most of the others chose to sacrifice skin from their backs, but at that time his vanity was his greatest hindrance. Members of the Doomguard did not accept healing, they _could_ not, and the older members were marred with assorted scars and deformities. In the end he chose to give the skin from his face, and now each glance in a mirror was a reminder of the ephemerality of beauty.

An unwelcome memory accosted him, an image of the bemused half-grin _she_ wore whenever she would catch him fussing with his tangled braids or earrings. It was as if she could see straight through him, beneath the scars and adornments, beyond the persona he had spent years crafting. He was naked before her, and she loved him all the more for it. Nessa...he hadn’t begun to forget her, yet. He didn’t want to.

Perhaps now she understood the fits of melancholy that would strike him, the uncertainty that plagued their most tender moments. The more tightly he grasped her, the more painful it became, he knew better but he couldn’t stop himself. How could he? Each moment spent with her was well worth the sorrow that now burdened his heart. It was a fitting punishment, he had abandoned her to her fate, the betrayal was clear in her pale, haunted face. He could tell himself that there was no other way, but it was a lie, some small part of him was relieved to end it. He was afraid of her, afraid of the ease, the comfort, the simplicity of their affections. How could she offer herself to him with no reservations? No hesitation? A godchild, at that! Nay, a phoenix, a woman who fought soulless through the black pit of hell and emerged from the ashes of her innocence a more wondrous, more powerful creature.

Haer’Dalis knew seduction, lust, sex, the thrill of the pursuit, he learned from the whores how to create the illusion of love and desire. What Nessa showed him, unbeknownst to her, in those most vulnerable, most desperate of moments, was a love that he didn’t know at all. A forgiving love that grew in the harshest of trials, was strengthened by the fires of doubt and jealousy, thrived even in the desolate caverns of the Underdark. A love _she_ deserved, not him.

Haer’Dalis steps were light, he trailed behind his brother but paid no mind to his surroundings. When he glanced up, he noticed that they had reached the outer gates of the Citadel. Roth made a motion and the gates opened, the trio quickly ascended the main staircase that led into the Citadel and passed through the massive reinforced front doors.

They stripped off their leather masks and threw them onto a pile of gear immediately inside of the doorway. The citadel itself had powerful magics that protected from the effect of the environment, there was no need to wear them within its walls.

“I have to go to the Armory to talk to Ely,” Roth said as he turned to face Haer’Dalis. “Zem here’s gonna show you to your room. Stay put, will you?” His brother stepped forward and placed a heavy hand on his chainmail-covered shoulder. “I’m glad you’re back, brother.”

Haer’Dalis let out a short, bitter laugh. “This sparrow returns to his cage not of choice, my crow.” His eyes shot up, their inky blackness communicating an unspoken challenge.“Rather it is because he has discovered his wings are clipped.”

Roth’s friendly smile turned into an dark frown.“Drop the bard act, we’ve got no use for it here,” he snarled. He took a step forward and towered over the smaller tiefling.

“As you wish,” Haer’Dalis replied, his voice flat but his glare sharp.

Roth leaned down, his ashen white face distorted with anger. He looked just like his father, Haer’Dalis noted to himself, the resemblance was uncanny.

“If you don’t quit your bullshit, I’m going to bash your brainbox in,” Roth hissed through his clenched jaw. His face came within inches of the bard’s, but Haer’Dalis remained unimpressed.

“Tut, tut, such harsh words my _brother_ , sweet mercy is nobility’s true badge, is it not?”

“You little bastard,” Roth growled. His fists cracked as he squeezed them more tightly. Zem looked nervously between the two of them, Haer’Dalis’ face looked faintly amused, Roth’s full of fury. A few long moments passed, then Roth let out a loud sigh.

“Alright, Haer, I know what you’re on about here.” He relaxed his tense shoulders and shook his head. “A royal prick you are, always did have a way of getting me fired up over nothing.”

Haer’Dalis shrugged and calmly smoothed his knotted hair away from his face. Zem reached out to place a bony hand on Roth’s arm.

“Come on Roth, Ely’s waiting.” Her voice was smooth, serpentine even. She came into the Doomguard a short time before Haer’Dalis left, he remembered her as a quiet, waif-like girl. Good with picking locks and fixing gear. Zemsas Telved, a street urchin from the Hive, one of the many whose short life was ravaged by the poverty and neglect that plagued the forgotten of Sigil. A natural fit for the Doomguard, motivated not by retribution but a desire to bring entropy to those whose wealth and power shielded them from it.

“I’ll warn you, don’t pull that shit on me again, I’m itching for a neck to snap,” Roth barked and wagged a clawed finger at Haer’Dalis. He motioned for Zem to take his brother down the opposite hallway to the barracks. Roth gave Haer’Dalis a final glare and stormed off, his heavy footsteps echoing in the empty halls.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, dear brother,” Haer’Dalis murmured. He followed behind Zem, too deep in his thoughts to notice the odd glances she cast back at him. The faint jingle of his earrings was the only reminder that he still existed, that all of this was real, not some strange dream.

He had longed to return to Sigil, its absence sweetened his memories. Haer’Dalis had allowed himself in moments of weakness to imagine guiding Nessa through the crowded streets. A show in the festhall, perhaps a trip to the Society of Sensation’s Brothel For Slaking Intellectual Lusts, maybe even a tour through the Pits if she were brave enough. He could show her the few trinkets left of his mother, the sketch of his father, he had never told her that he, too, was descended from the moon elves. He had shared so little of himself, he asked many questions and answered few of hers. It was too late for regret, now.

The came around a corner to a long series of doors, each leading to the private quarters of the doomlords affiliated with Citadel Sealt. Their numbers were ever-changing, the Doomguard were the most permissive of all of the factions, their initiated were free to come and go at will. It was only when the faction was under great threat that the greater doomlords would even consider summoning those who had wandered away from Sigil. They stopped by a large wooden door, the third door on the right, the room that was his own many, many years ago.

“Your room is still here, your brother figured you’d be back sooner or later.” Zem turned the handle and the heavy door swung into the dark room. “Pretty sure your stuff is in there, unless someone’s gotten into it, can’t imagine that, though.” She paused and gave him a sharp grin. “Not many people would want to get on your bad side, or Roth’s.”

“Thank you, Zem,” Haer’Dalis replied with a curt nod. Zem watched him as he passed by her, she noted that he seemed stronger, more hardened since the last she had seen him. It was long ago, but she still could recall Roth’s younger brother, it was difficult to forget his gray-blue hair and penetrating black eyes. He wore far less armor back in those days and had fewer scars, but she could see from his cat-like movements that he was still a formidable opponent. A valuable ally, too. Roth did well to seek him out, even if at first she had thought it was a hairbrained scheme. Raelis Shai was, after all, known more for her unreliability and double-crossing than her skills in interplanar travel. Regardless, Roth’s plans worked, as they most often did.

She waited for him to light the small oil lantern on the wooden table. “See you later, Haer,” she said breezily as she closed the door behind him. Haer’Dalis was left in semi-darkness, the dim light of the flame cast flickering shadows on the bare walls. He glanced around him, there was the same simple bed, threadbare sheets, a small chair and table where he had spent countless nights scribbling sheet after sheet of prose.

He had never thought that his brother would find him in Toril, he had not struggled against his fate because there was no purpose to it. Plucked from the planes, shuttled through a planar vortex into a prison of his own making. Was it so different than his time with the Sigil Troupe? He had known that Raelis had written the play herself, he chose to travel with her regardless, he realized the risk that they faced and plunged into the depths of the unknown headfirst. What he could have never anticipated was that _she_ would follow them, the fair elven maiden and her fearless entourage of faithful companions. Her blood-spattered face, beaming with the kind of weary self-satisfaction that comes from a hard-won fight, the key slipped into the lock of his prison. Not the planar prison, no, the prison he had crafted for himself. The bars surrounding his heart.

When he asked her of it, she had shrugged her selfless act off with the vaguely irritated nonchalance that he came to expect of her whenever he asked her to tell him of her exploits. Later she had finally broken down, after a bottle of wine and a long night of love-making, and told him the real reason behind the heroic rescue.

 _You deserve to be free, Haer’Dalis, everyone does but when I thought of you being captured, imprisoned, maybe even killed, I couldn’t stand it. The others didn’t want to get involved but I begged them to come with me, after I threatened to go by myself they finally agreed. To go from being Mekrath’s prisoner to a slave, or worse? The world needs more people like you, I needed you..._ Her words had trailed off and he had lunged forward to press her against him, to feel that this beautiful, marvelous woman truly existed and was not a figment of his imagination.

She could not save him here, she could not release him from _this_ prison, one he had made for himself in the reckless days of his heart-broken, disillusioned youth. The seeds of doubt that had been sown years before he met Nessa were nurtured by her love for him, nourished by the pain in her eyes when she begged him to let Jaheira heal him, watered by the tears she shed at his refusal. Even though he eventually capitulated and learned to accept the druid’s healing magic, even though he was _relieved_ to be resurrected after the Slayer eviscerated him before Nessa’s very eyes so she would not have to bear the guilt of his death on her already heavy heart, still he could not stay with her. He could doubt the Doomguard, he could break their petty rules as an entropic act itself, but he could not deny that entropy would someday take everything he had ever loved from him. It had taken his father, his mother, his friends, his lovers, and someday it would take Nessa, too. Better to know this and make peace with it now than struggle against the inevitable tide. He had only promised her that he would not willingly leave her side, and it was not his will, but Roth’s, he had merely obeyed orders from his superior. Besides, it was true that Roth would not have left without him, and if Nessa had gotten involved what good could come of it? These thoughts gave him little consolation in comparison to the vacuum he felt within himself, the gaping maw of loneliness in his breast.

She had rescued him, she had risked her life to save a faithless bard, a thief, a silver-tongued seducer. He sank down onto the bed and buried his hands in his thick hair. Was this how he would justify himself, with trivial technicalities? What excuse was there, what explanations could he ever offer to her, if she even survived to see the end of her part in the prophecy. The thought of her dying sickened him, his blood ran cold with fear and disgust at himself. She was a formidable woman, she had kept herself alive without him and she would continue to do so after his departure, he was sure of it. Still, in the silence of the room he could not avoid these racing, frenetic thoughts, unspoken fears of what would face Nessa in those final steps of her journey, the daydreams of their travels together when it was all finished. Dreams, memories, things of the past and of the imagination. Not reality, not again. Never again.

 _Never again…_ the words hung around him like a funeral shroud. Their certainty laden with the bittersweet inevitability of death.

She would find a lover again, easily, there was much about Nessa that deserved love. The beauty of her body paled in comparison to her being, there was something wild within Nessa, as if she were a creature imbued with nature itself. Untamed, unfettered, aglow with life and the indomitable spirit of creation. She flourished in the most unlikely of places, and when it seemed all light had been stamped out within her, still she would regrow and bloom anew. Surely men longed to possess her, possibly even to break her, but they too would find themselves instead renewed in the life and hope that flowed from her very being. A child of Bhaal, an elf, a savage warrior and a masterful mage, a mortal who would storm the halls of the gods themselves for her freedom. He would write her story, this most remarkable woman, he would imprint her memory on the collective consciousness of all of creation. He, a foolish, cowardly bard, had been permitted the company of a goddess.

An idle doubt crossed his mind, not of her survival, but of his. Perhaps this return to Sigil was to be his last. Could it be that it was he instead who faced the final act? The final bow? The thought was not so unpleasant, he had after all pledged his life to the service of the Doomguard, to the service of entropy itself. 

Only time would tell, for now he would wait for Roth to return. He wouldn't chase her memories from his thoughts, not yet. They were worth the pain.


	3. The Armory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been a while since I have updated this. I've taken some liberties with the canon Planescape characters and Faction War plot line. This does run simultaneously to PoD, but this story takes place in about a week or two, before Nessa has even recovered from nearly dying in Abazigal's Lair. Just fyi. The two will sort of intersect, so keep the time line in mind if you read both.

Haer’Dalis awoke with a start. Loud, insistent knocking at his door ripped him from his restless sleep, instinctively his hands searched for his blade.

“Get up, Roth wants to see you,” a female voice commanded through the thick wooden door.

He sighed as he realized it was no dream, he was in Citadel Sealt. He glanced over at the table beside him, the candle had nearly burned out and wax had spilled over the edge of the holder. A mess of papers lay strewn across the desk, a few balled up and thrown on the ground, the remnants of his efforts to find some catharsis from his grief and anger.

The knocking continued. “Come on Haer, I haven’t got all day!”

Zem was nothing if not persistent. His body protested as he rose from the bed, he had been up most of the night writing.

“Yes, yes, I hear you,” he snapped. He reached for the door and opened it, and was greeted with an irritated Zem, her hands on her hips and thin lips turned in a deep frown. A single eyebrow arched as the door swung open.

“About time, Roth’s waiting for you in the portal room, says it’s important.”

Zemsas’ deep red armor contrasted against the tan of her skin and drab gray of the walls behind her. A dim light flooded the hallway, Citadel Sealt had no windows and instead was lit only through magic and the odd candle or oil lamp.

Haer’Dalis wore nothing but a simple pair of trousers. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the open door, his blue-gray hair was a tousled mess. He looked back at her, his inky black eyes not moving from her own.

“So am I to be a dog, summoned at the will of my master?” His voice was smooth and calm. Zem’s hand flinched at the hilt of her stiletto.

Haer’Dalis noted her movement and smiled inwardly, he didn’t appreciate her commanding tone.

“Roth’s calling the shots here, not me.”

“Ah, so you are a pet as well?”

Zem’s face flushed with anger. “That’s not what I meant!”

“Oh?” Haer’Dalis’ expression grew amused.

“Not all of us are _cowards_ ,” Zem hissed. Her dark eyes narrowed.

Haer’Dalis’ calm veneer cracked at her words. His nonchalant facade dropped like a curtain, his languid body suddenly tense.

“You forget to whom you speak, child,” he replied, his voice sharp.

“No, Haer’Dalis,” Zem retorted. She took a step closer to him, her long brown hair slid over her shoulder as she leaned in towards his face. “ _You_ have forgotten who you are, what _we_ are.”

Haer’Dalis glared back at her, his black eyes stormy. In a swift motion he unfolded his arms and grabbed the door. “Tell my brother I will join him shortly.” Before Zem could protest, he had slammed the door shut.

He turned and rested his back against the door. The bard exhaled slowly and let his shoulders sag. His armor lay thrown in a corner, but his blades were tucked carefully under his bed. In a fit of rage he had ripped his chainmail off, the last vestiges of Nessa, a memory of the elves in Suldanesslar. An exquisite piece of craftsmanship, its delicate rings seemed lighter than the air itself, centuries of elven history were wrought into its chains.

She was wrong, he hadn’t forgotten who he was. Rather, he simply was not the same person anymore. The petty squabbles between factions had seemed important when he was younger, when all he had ever seen was the walls of Sigil. As much as the Doomguard were important to him, as much as he reveled in entropy’s destructive powers, still he was plagued by doubts. Why hasten entropy? How could the Doomguard make deals with the tanar’ri? The Blood War was pointless, a manufactured struggle with no end. The tanar’ri knew how to exploit the weakness of mortals, they were not to be trusted, ever.

_You’re afraid..._

Nessa’s voice rang in his memory. An evening in Athkatla, at a luxurious inn in Waukeen’s Promenade. He could see her before him, tendrils of dark hair framing her angled cheekbones and chin. _You’re afraid of who you’ll be if you aren’t a Doomguard._

 _Nonsense,_ he had scoffed. _I am a proud servant of entropy, the Doomguard are merely a formality_.

_Is that why you keep that sword with you? Why you won’t let anyone else touch it?_

_Am I not allowed personal items of sentimental value?_ he retorted, now irritated.

 _If everything ends, then that means the Doomguard ends, too._ Nessa leaned forward and caressed his face, her green eyes peering deeply into his own.

_Then I welcome its end._

Nessa shook her head at him and kissed the tip of his nose. _You miss it, don’t you?_

_It would be a lie if I said no, my love._

_Do you think you’ll ever go back?_

Haer’Dalis had paused. The guarded look in her eyes made him want to lie to her, but he cared for Nessa too deeply to deceive her.

_I do not know, but I cannot deny that I would regret never seeing Sigil’s crowded streets again._

_I meant to the Doomguard, do you think you’ll go back, to fight for them again?_

_Perhaps._

They sat there for a few moments, she turned one of his braids between her fingers as she looked past him, her eyes distant.

 _You know, Haer’Dalis..._ she had said, her expression suddenly wistful. _some people and places are best left safe in the realm of memory. Reality is less forgiving._

Her words rang through his mind as he glanced around the stone walls of his room. A place he had once proudly occupied, a room he had once filled with great expectations for the future of the Doomguard. Pentar visited him there, before she was factol, they had made love countless times on that same simple bed. It all seemed hollow, now. He had thought Pentar was the most captivating woman, wild and free and chaotic, but she paled in comparison to Nessa.

Sigil was a harsh world, and the Doomguard embraced the pain and violence of life in the Cage. Toril was resplendent, the open skies became bejeweled in the night, the land was covered in vast deserts, forests, mountains, rivers, lakes. The smell of the ocean, the salt in the breeze and the rhythmic crashing of waves against the rocky shoreline, it enthralled him. Primes confused him at first, but he came to appreciate their strange ways.

Maybe he _had_ forgotten who he was.

Nessa had told him about her return to Candlekeep, the place of her childhood, after much nagging and cajoling on his part. It was a place she had both loved and hated, a prison with books and walls instead of bars. When she had arrived she immediately knew something foul was afoot, she recognized the faces of people from her youth but they acted unlike themselves. It turned out that the library had been infiltrated by doppelgangers, and Nessa was faced with the gruesome task of killing beasts disguised as her loved ones.

It wasn’t so different for Haer’Dalis, now. The Doomguard was changing even before he left, the faces of those near to him were the same but he could see the hunger behind their eyes. The rotten work of the tanar’ri, eating away at their core.

He roused himself from his thoughts and grabbed his armor and swords. The chain slipped easily over his head and he strapped his twin blades to his sides. He gathered up the papers and stuffed them into his bag, unwilling to leave them behind lest someone trespass into his room. After a final glance around, he slipped out into the hallway and closed the door gently behind him. He didn’t know if he was alone or not, perhaps Roth had summoned other doomlords as well, and he wasn’t in the mood for further reunions.

His footsteps padded softly down the halls, nearly silent, and he quickly glided down the familiar corridors that led to the portal room. The portals were opened in the center of Citadel Sealt, in the bowels of the tower at the base of a long, winding staircase. The room held four portals, three that led to the other citadels and one to the Armory, the Doomguard’s headquarters in Sigil.

The Citadel was more empty than he remembered it, the staircase descended into a darkness that seemed almost foreboding. Magical sconces cast long shadows against the walls, he missed the feel of the sun against his skin. He could hear Roth’s voice booming from the depths of the tower, along with another that he had not heard in years. It was unmistakable, cambions had a voice that was deceptively pleasant in its smooth, rich baritone. After his experiences with their kind he could hear nothing but the cruelty behind it.

He stepped off the final stair and walked through a massive archway. His brother Roth stood in the center of the room with Zem beside him, and between them and Haer’Dalis was as a massive, muscular creature with great, leathery wings protruding from its scapulae. He recognized the armor even before the cambion turned to look at him. _Ely Cromlich_.

“So the wanderer returns,” the cambion crooned. His glowing yellow eyes peered out from under a pair of red horns, his lips slid over razor sharp, fanged teeth in something akin to a smile.

The room was small and unadorned, a single lantern provided the only light. Haer’Dalis remembered it well, he had traveled back and forth between the citadel and Sigil many times.

“Aye,” he replied as he slipped out from beneath the archway and positioned himself against the near wall. He regarded Ely will a good measure of caution, the cambion was Pentar’s only public lover. His possessiveness of her was well-known, and many a poor sod had been killed for speaking too freely of a past dalliance with the factol. Ely ran the Armory, both as its leader and its head blacksmith, and Haer’Dalis tended to believe the rumors that linked Cromlich to the Blood War. The tanar’ri’s weapons and influence had begun to seep into the Doomguard as soon as Ely gained influence with Pentar and the sub-faction of Salt. Needless to say, he did not trust the cambion at all.

“I was about to send Zem back after you, ‘bout time you showed up.” Roth glared at him, Haer’Dalis could see impatience etched across his brother’s heavy white brow.

Haer’Dalis shrugged and folded his arms over his chainmail-covered chest. He leaned a single shoulder against the wall and crossed one foot over the other, his head rolled to the side and he looked at them with clear disinterest. He had grown unaccustomed to being dragged here and there, ever since Nessa released him from the planar prison he had enjoyed a life of relative freedom.

“As brooding as ever, I see,” Ely remarked, his smile turning into a sneer. “Your brother and I were just discussing how much time he has wasted in bringing you back here.”

Haer’Dalis’ eyes moved up slowly to meet the cambion’s. “Oh? Do not stop on my account.”

Ely snorted and turned back to Roth. “I do not see what use he is to us, or to our efforts, we are on the brink of a war!”

“Cromlich, look at the big picture here,” Roth replied, and pounded a clenched fist into his hand. “Change is coming, if the Hardheads hit the Armory then we’re gonna have to regroup, reconfigure even! This is our chance to finally get the Sinkers back on the right track!” The tiefling’s eyes glowed bright red, his words were passionate. “We can’t lose everything we’ve been working on, we need all the help we can get!” He motioned towards Haer’Dalis. “Haer here’s been in the faith mine, consorting with some demigoddess of murder, just look at the gear he’s got!”

Ely turned back and his yellow eyes scanned over the bard, appraising his armor and other gear. He noted that the tiefling still had his twin blades, Chaos and Entropy. “It is of superior quality, yes,” the cambion growled. “But I still think this has little to do with entrusting our secrets with a man who has been absent for years. You have too much faith in your weak familial ties.”

“Cut the bullshit Ely, we’re desperate here and you know it,” Roth spat. Anger flashed across his face, his white lips curled in a snarl. “Pentar’s not coming back, we’ve got to make other plans.”

Ely’s head whipped back around to face Roth. The cambion strode forward, he was easily a head taller than the others and his arms were long enough to reach Roth from where he stood. “I will find her,” he hissed, drawing up closer to Roth. “ Mark my words, fleshling, I will rip your throat out if you stand in my way.”

Zem’s stilettos were in her hands in an instant, but there was no need for her to step between Roth and Ely. Haer’Dalis had already slipped up behind the cambion and had the points of his blades pressed against the fiend’s sides.

“‘Tis not wise to threaten a doomlord is his own home,” Haer’Dalis said, his voice barely a whisper.

The cambion snarled and swung a leathery wing at Haer’Dalis, but the tiefling easily ducked out of its way. Ely’s massive blade came next in a mighty swing as he turned to face the bard, Haer’Dalis slipped beneath it and jumped back up on his feet and darted forward. In one swift movement he struck the sword from Ely’s hands and grabbed his shouderplate and swung onto the cambion’s back between his wings. The cold steel of Haer’Dalis’ blade bit into Ely’s skin as its razor-sharp edge pressed into his neck.

Roth slapped his hands together and let out a great, booming peal of laughter. “What did I tell ya, ya idiot! He may be pretty, but he’s damn good with a sword.”

Zem tried to bite back a smile.

Ely breathed heavily as he stood there, his clawed fists clenched tightly, the tiefling’s sword still at his neck. “Fine,” he growled, “you have proven your point.” Haer’Dalis loosened his hold on the cambion and jumped back down to the ground.

Roth stepped forward and placed a heavy hand on Ely’s shoulder. “I’ll let it slide for now, we all know you’ve been a bit...stressed...about Pentar. But you’re gonna have to pull it together, we can’t be killing each other, not right now anyways.”

Ely nodded and reached down to grab his greatsword off the ground.

“If you wish to show him our recent ventures, then we must hurry.” The cambion gripped his sword and returned it to its place on his back. “The Harmonium have stationed themselves outside the Armory, an attack is imminent.”

“Agreed. Shall we?” Roth said and flashed Haer’Dalis a toothy grin. “Come on brother, cheer up, we’ve got some new toys for you.”

Haer’Dalis returned the smile, but hid the sinking feeling in his stomach. He loved his brother, dearly, Roth was the only person he had to look up to after his mother left him. Roth’s hunger for power had grown, that much was clear, and Haer’Dalis was beginning to have an idea of where he fit into his brother’s plans. It made more sense, now, that Roth would sacrifice so much precious time to seek him out and return him to Sigil. He was gathering those most loyal to him. He was preparing for a coup.

The four stepped into the portal at the center of the room, and came out on the other side in another dim, bare room. It looked identical to the one in Citadel Sealt, but this one was in the basement of the Armory.

Roth wrapped a heavy arm around Haer’Dalis’ shoulders and pulled him along with him as he walked. “Ely's got some great connections, you won’t believe the things he’s cooked up!”

“I’m sure,” Haer’Dalis murmured. The cambion strode ahead of them, his steps thundered against the stone floor.

“It’s time to catch you up on a few things, brother, like the fact that we’ve got a bit of a mutiny on our hands.” Roth’s clawed fingers dug into Haer’Dalis’ armored shoulder. “Ely here’s assistant, Spragg, you remember that bookish simp with the glasses?”

“Aye,” Haer’Dalis nodded. He did recall Spragg, he was practically the accountant of the Armory. An unlikely member of the Doomguard, weak, balding, and with stuttered speech. Ely was skilled at many things, but maintaining records was not one of them, so he entrusted the bureaucratic tasks to Spragg.

Ely bristled at the mention of Spragg’s name. “Bastard,” he muttered, half under his breath.

“Spragg’s got the idea in his head that Pentar and Ely and I have it all wrong, that we’re speeding up entropy _too_ much.” Roth let out a contemptuous snort. “He lost his nerve once he saw the new ships, I think, he doesn’t have the stomach for the tanar’ri tech.”

“He is a coward,” Ely growled. “He has betrayed us all!”

“Spragg’s holed himself up in the Crumbling Citadel, he’s been trying to get Devland and the other Ashers on his side.” Roth sighed. “And he stole something from us.”

They approached an enormous door with extensive physical and spell protections. Roth released his grip on his brother and stepped up to it. He said a few words and a small light emerged. It scanned his face and body and then a panel popped open to reveal a blank screen. He drew a symbol onto the face of it and the door heaved with a loud rumble.

“You won’t believe this stuff,” Roth said, motioning for the others to follow him. The doors slowly opened to reveal a massive room, one that Haer’Dalis could faintly recall. This was the area where Ely and the others did their weapons research, it had obviously developed much during his absence. Bright lights flickered on as they moved into the cavernous space, illuminating a room filled with various mechanisms and weapons, some that Haer’Dalis recognized, most that he did not.

“This is good, but not _great_ ,” Roth said, nearly breathless with excitement, and waved his hand at some of the strange contraptions that were laid out on a table. “Backfiring weapons, they launch projectiles but also contain a decent amount of explosives. Big surprise to everyone involved.”

They continued to walk through the room towards another set of massive doors. These were even more well guarded than the first, it took Roth a few minutes to pass through the security measures.

“Are you certain you should show him?” Ely asked, his eyes darting to meet Haer’Dalis’. “I am unsure if he is trustworthy, we cannot risk another traitor.”

“Relax,” Roth replied. He pressed a few more buttons and the doors began to slide apart. “No one was more dedicated to our cause than Haer, come on now, look at his bloody face!”

The cambion frowned at Haer’Dalis, it was true, the tiefling was willing to sacrifice almost anything to become a Doomguard. _Almost_ anything.

“Besides, it’s not like he knows how to fly the damn thing.”

The doors opened to reveal a small room with a single portal in the center. Haer’Dalis glanced around it and back at Roth, suspicious.

“What kind of joke is this, brother?” he asked. Roth replied with a loud, bellowing laugh.

“Not what you expected, eh? Never fear, the real treat is through there.” He pointed at the portal and motioned for Zem to approach. “Go ahead girl, show him.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes. The tall, willowy woman slid forward and turned to face them, waving her long arms before the portal with an exaggerated flourish. “Exhibit A...portal to hell.” She blew a kiss to Roth and stepped backwards into the portal, and in an instant vanished.

“Where does this lead, brother?” Haer’Dalis asked. He felt a strange sense of dread emanating from the portal. It wasn’t possible that the Armory had a direct route to the Nine Hells in its basement, it couldn’t be.

“To our little joint venture with the tanar’ri, hop in!”

Ely Cromlich followed Zem into the portal, then Roth. Haer’Dalis hesitated for a moment before stepping up to the shimmering surface of the dark, circular gateway in the center of the room.

He sighed and plunged himself into the depths.


	4. Oblivion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have been busy buying a house, so not much time for writing :( I'm rusty, AGAIN, so I'm hoping this chapter is ok and not terrible. Warning, it's upsetting.

_What have you done my brother?_  
I don't know, I don't know  
I said, what have you done my brother?  
I don't know, I don't know  
Said you told your lie, without no shame  
That you worn out and scuttle  
Relies on somebody to blame  
You twist it well, thought you was clever  
But you see your wicked tongue  
Come on, can't twist forever, no, no 

-Naomi Shelton and the Gospel Queens

\---------------------

 

Haer’Dalis stood before a mass of something that looked like flesh and bone, but somehow was wrought into the shape of a ship. Foul magics emanated from it, a sense of wrongness amplified in this dark corner of the Abyss. A workshop, of sorts, the place where the tanar’ri and the Doomguard crafted their most destructive weapons. 

_The ships of chaos._ It was nothing but a rumor when Haer’Dalis left Sigil, the paranoid whispers of those who would see the Armory shut down and the Doomguard stripped of their status as a faction. A ship that could sail the planes, transport fiends from the Abyss to anywhere in the multiverse, armed with weapons that would disintegrate anything they touched. 

The pit in Haer’Dalis’ stomach grew colder, he wanted to leave this place, immediately. His mask of indifference was becoming impossible to maintain. He felt sweat begin to form on his brow.

“Marvelous, innit?” Roth grinned. “It can’t transport directly to Sigil, mind you, but it can get there soon enough. Damn hardheads won’t know what’s hit them.” Haer’Dalis glanced up at his brother, his eyes searching for any sign of apprehension, any lingering remnants of the brother he had left behind. Roth was ambitious, but this went far beyond the hunger for power, far beyond entropy itself. This was madness. 

Ely Cromlich glared at Haer’Dalis, his red eyes narrowed in suspicion. Haer’Dalis wished he could run him through with his blades then and there. This all had nothing to do with petty squabbles between Sigil’s factions, this was a weapon for the Blood War. How could Roth be such a fool? The tanar’ri would destroy _everything_ , the Doomguard included. 

“It is most...impressive,” Haer’Dalis replied cautiously. He glanced up at Zem, the girl was looking back at him with a strange grin that didn’t reach her eyes. He grew more anxious to leave, he could feel beads of sweat sliding down his neck, mingling with the hair that draped over his shoulders. The bard turned back to Roth. 

“What’s this about, brother, why have you brought me here?” His black eyes shone in the dim light. 

“To show off, of course!” Roth laughed. He clapped a clawed arm on Haer’Dalis’ shoulder. “Pentar and Ely worked good and long on this, it’s everything we’ve ever dreamed about! Chaos, destruction, we will be unstoppable!”

Haer’Dalis wanted to protest, he wanted to tell them that any agreement with the tanar’ri could only end poorly. But what was the point? It was far too late for that.

“I still fail to see my place in all of this.”

Roth’s hand gripped his shoulder more tightly. “You will fight by my side, brother with brother, as it was before. It is the time for a great change in the Doomguard, and I want you there with me.”

“Change?” A blue-gray eyebrow shot up. 

“Aye, a new leadership, a renewed purpose. Too long we’ve been sitting around, making weapons but never using them, watching as entropy is slowed, or even bloody stopped! No more!” Roth grinned widely, his eyes glittered with a malevolence that his brother had never seen before. 

“What about Devland? Nagaul*? They will reject this...this construct,” Haer’Dalis objected, waving a hand at the massive ship.

Roth gave a low, ruthless chuckle. “Then they’ll be the first test subjects.”

Haer’Dalis’ lips twitched. He couldn’t take anymore of this, he couldn’t bite back his tongue any longer.

“You would slay members of your own faction, for what?” He threw Roth’s hand from his shoulder and stepped back, away from the others. His voice grew deeper, with a sharp edge of disgust in its tone. “This is not entropy, brother, this is _insanity_! You would trust the tanar’ri? The power you seek will destroy the Doomguard from within!” Haer’Dalis’ chest heaved with heavy breaths, he struggled to keep himself calm. 

Disappointment flashed across Roth’s pale face. Ely Cromlich snarled and unfurled his massive wings, his hand went to draw his sword. 

“You should watch your words, maggot, the lord of this plane will cut your tongue out for such insolence,” the cambion growled. 

“I care not for your lord or your Abyss, fiend, I would sooner die than help you or your kind.” Haer’Dalis’ hands moved to his own swords, his inky eyes met Ely’s and he held the cambion’s stare. 

“The child acts as if he does not share in our blood,” Ely laughed. His lips parted to expose his long, pointed teeth, a cruel grin spread across his face. “Perhaps your time among the fleshbags has clouded your memory. _I_ know what you are, fey’ri,” he hissed, moving closer to Haer’Dalis. “I am not fooled by your protests. Your false piety is nothing more than an empty charade, you are the same as I, and as your brother.”

Haer’Dalis stepped towards Ely, he stood only as high as the cambion’s shoulders but still he faced him, his scarred face expressionless and his eyes burning with anger. He didn’t fear death, he feared captivity. It had become increasingly clear that those were likely to be his only choices. 

“I will not be a _tool_ for your absurd war, Ely, nor will the Doomguard. I won’t allow it.” He gritted his teeth and prepared for an attack, he could see Ely’s hand closing around the pommel of his sword. 

“Told you he wasn’t going to go for it,” Zem laughed from beside him. He glanced over his shoulder to see that she had already drawn a stiletto and was turning it over in her slender hand. 

“Shut up,” Roth barked. He shoved Zem out of his way and threw himself between Haer’Dalis and Ely.

“Move,” Ely snarled, his sword brandished at his side. 

“Let’s just talk about this, shall we? No reason to come to blows,” Roth replied, his blood red eyes fixed on Ely’s own. Roth stood as high as the cambion, and was nearly as large. Ely knew better than to pick a fight with him. 

“The beast needs no _reason_ ,” Haer’Dalis hissed.

Ely’s huge wings unfurled and he surged forward. Roth pushed him back, the two men struggled against one another.

“Son of a whore,” Ely spat while pressing back against Roth’s attempts to block him.

Haer’Dalis grinned as he struck a defensive stance, his swords held tightly in both of his hands. “Empty insults, fiend, the truth does not wound this sparrow.”

A wing slammed forward and knocked Roth to the side, Ely launched himself forward and swung his black greatsword towards Haer’Dalis’s head. The tiefling ducked down and darted to flank the cambion, out of the corner of his eye he could see Zem moving towards them. His short swords lashed forward and cut at Ely’s calf, slicing deep wounds into his burnt-red skin. The cambion howled in pain and free hand shot forward to grab for Haer’Dalis, but the bard had already moved behind him. 

“Zem, no!” Roth barked. Haer’Dalis glanced up long enough to see Zem gliding towards him, her stilettos brandished and her mask pulled up over her face. The cambion was a formidable enough opponent, there was no way he could defeat him and Zem at the same time. The bard saw an opening between the cambion and Roth and took it, the portals were behind them. As he sprinted past them both he plunged forward into a barrel roll to avoid the wide swing of Ely’s sword. "Kill him!" Ely roared, "he cannot escape!"

“God damn it! Haer! Stop!!” Roth cried from behind him. Haer’Dalis didn’t stop, he didn’t even pause to glance back, he kept his eyes fixed on the shimmering portal 50 paces ahead of him. He was faster than the others, he had always been athletic, even as a child. The last time he had run this quickly was with Nessa, fleeing Ust Natha. He could see her ahead of him, her black skin glowing in the dull light of that dismal subterranean world, her white hair flowing freely behind her. Her hand reached out for his, pulling him with her to the safety of the silver dragon’s lair. 

She would not be here to rescue him, not this time. There was no safety beyond the portal, there was no happy ending to this story, he was sure of it. Still, the will to survive took over, urging him forward to a possible escape, a possible twist in the plot unfolding before him. 

Pain erupted in his shoulder and brought him crashing back into the present. He was only steps away from the portal now, he flung himself forward and sailed through the portal as if he were diving into a bottomless pool. He came through the other side in the bowels of the Armory.

A sharp, ripping pain was clawing its way through his shoulder, he drew sharp breaths as he raced forward to the larger, more open area of the weapons laboratory. _Poison_. He reached up and felt the blade lodged in his flesh, Zem had thrown one of her blades and it had penetrated the rings of his armor. A paralytic agent, if he had to guess, his shoulder was swiftly stiffening. He flung the blade across the room and began to cast an invisibility spell on himself. Haer’Dalis could hear his brother’s voice echoing from the portal room, they were close behind him. The spell took hold and he darted across the stone floor, his leather boots noiseless as he ran. 

“He won’t be able to run for long,” he could hear Zem say. Haer’Dalis fled through the long hall and down to another room, an old storage area. He swung around the open doorway and sank down into the corner. His arm was completely numb now, and it was spreading down through his flank. He reached into a small bag at his waist and withdrew a bright green vial. 

_You have saved me yet again, my raven,_ he thought to himself as he drained the draught. She had convinced him to carry a small stash of antidotes and healing potions, insisting that he was no use to her dead. Emerald green liquid, the color of her eyes...he quickly drank it down, the numbness was spreading to his chest. All those nights he had spent longing for Sigil, lost in the memories of his youth, and yet here he was. Hunted. Alone.

He had no time to rest, the cooling relief of the potion washed over him and cleansed the poison from his shoulder. Footsteps were fast approaching, he glanced through the doorway and saw Ely and Zem stalking through the hall. He crept forward, deeper in to the storage room, his eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness. The room was mostly empty, save four pillars in the center. He squinted, there was an area in the center of the pillars that he couldn’t make out. It was completely black, what little light there was in the room seemed to move towards it, as if it were being sucked in. He froze.

 _A sphere of annihilation_. 

This is what Zem meant, when she mentioned that there was a ‘surprise’ waiting for the Harmonium. They intended a victory, no matter how pyrrhic. They would sooner destroy the Armory itself, and all of the Doomguard and Harmonium within it, than lose it to another faction. 

It was a wondrous thing, this sphere, utter destruction awaited within its inscrutable depths. It was nothing like that tanar’ri’s constructs, a sphere of annihilation was a product of the birth of the universe itself. Born from chaos, and no one truly knew what secrets it held. A portal to another dimension? Did it truly annihilate its victims, or did it merely transport them, transform them even? He knew better than to approach it, or even attempt to interact with it, he lacked the arcane skills to control a sphere. If one attempted to move it and failed, it would move towards them, and if they lacked the dexterity to avoid it then they would be destroyed. 

A massive explosion rocked the entire room, nearly knocking Haer’Dalis off of his feet. It had come from above him, near the main gates to the Armory. They were under attack.

He could flee amid the chaos, slip unnoticed through the main halls and into the streets of Sigil. Abandon the guild, find a new path. He looked down at his swords, his thumb slid over the hilt of his entropic blade. Is this was he had become? A coward? 

The image of the ships of chaos flashed in his mind. He would have died for the Doomguard gladly, before, but he had seen enough of the Blood War to have nothing but contempt for the tanar’ri. If they had infiltrated the Doomguard then they would rot it from within, it was merely a matter of time. They would manipulate the weak wills of mortals, use their desires for power and influence for their own purposes. They would promise everything and give nothing but misery, suffering, and death if one was fortunate enough. 

He slipped his hand beneath his armor, grasping for the symbol that he he placed around his neck. It was Solaufein’s cloak pin, a symbol of Eilistraee that the drow had kept hidden in the Underdark, a sign of his faithfulness to Lady Silverhair. Haer’Dalis plucked it from its chain and held it in his palm, his fingers traced softly over the circle that represented the moon.

 

_”It reminds me of you,” she said, with a faint smile. “Your hair is the color of starlight, your eyes the dark of night. I see the way you look at the moon, when you think no one is watching. It calls to you.”_

_“You flatter this bard, my lady, perhaps you have spent too much time in my company?” he said, his eyes twinkling._

_Nessa grabbed his hand and placed the symbol in it, then closed his fingers around it. Her clear green eyes were fixed on him, her cool hand remained clasped over his. The emptiness in her gaze wrapped around his heart like a vice, he could feel her touch but she was a shell of her former self. Time was running out._

_“Take it,” she said, her face pale and drawn. A lone tear welled up in her eye. “R-r-remember me.”_

_He pulled her towards him and snaked his warm arms around her, gripping her in a tight embrace. “I will never forget you, my love, as long as I have breath within me,” he whispered in her ear, his breath hot against her skin. She buried her head in his shoulder, her chest heaving with heavy sobs._

That was their last night in Suldanesslar, before they confronted Irenicus. He was terrified of losing her, he couldn’t detach himself from the fear, he couldn’t bear any fate that would take her from him. He had accepted healing for her, died for her, been resurrected for her, and then he had left her. All it took was a simple summons, he didn’t even attempt to protest...he was frightened. Frightened of who he had become, frightened of what had grown between him and Nessa. It was simple enough to write or sing of great love, to perform it on a stage, but it was quite another to experience it firsthand. So he had taken the coward’s way out, to ensure it wasn’t _his_ fault, instead it was fate, destiny, the cruelty of promises made long ago. 

It made no sense, little in his life ever had. He had asked her for permission to spill his seed within her, to create new life with her, and she was clearly surprised by his request. When she agreed he had felt overcome with desire and love, yet afterwards he had shut himself off, hurt her with talk of Sigil and everything he had left behind. He longed to be near her, but he knew himself better than to commit to anything. Maybe he had hoped a child would force his hand. In truth, he didn’t understand his own motivations. 

 

He could hear the clash of metal echoing from the upper levels, the cries of battle rang out through the stone hallway. There was no fear in his heart, now, merely a strange sense of calm. He had pledged his life in service of the Doomguard. It was a fitting end, to die defending it, he could remember it as it was. Not for what it had become. 

Haer’Dalis glanced at the symbol in his hand. Nessa deserved better than a foolish, feckless bard, she would find a love better than his, he was certain of it. He stroked it a final time with his thumb before flinging it into the sphere of annihilation. A flash of regret struck him as it disappeared within the sphere’s pitch black depths but he shook it off and reached beneath his armor for the satchel of potions, then threw them into the sphere as well. _No more healing, no more resurrections._

He unsheathed his short swords and gripped them tightly, his footsteps light as he crept across the floor, his back pressed up against the cold stone wall. There was no sign of the others, surely they had been distracted by the Harmonium’s onslaught. 

“They’ve breached the inner gates!” a voice cried out over the din. The Armory had two layers of fortification, the outer and inner gates. If the Harmonium had already reached the inner armory, then it was a dire situation for the Doomguard indeed. He slipped up the stairs and was greeted with the sight of utter destruction and chaos. Bodies were piled up on the floor, Harmonium and Doomguard alike, blood splattered everywhere, the explosions had blown huge chunks of metal and steel and left a gaping hole in the Armory’s defenses. Any shred of hesitation left in him was gone, his infernal heritage relished the smell of gore and death in the air. Chaos, pure and unadulterated, a symphony of destruction. 

A young hardhead approached him, a formidable human male with a massive morningstar that appeared to be covered with fragments of skull and brain. Haer’Dalis raced forward, his swords tucked close to his side, and sliced them outwards as he maneuvered beneath the morningstar and spun past the youth’s side. The blade slid between the plates of armor and into the soft skin beneath, eliciting a howl of pain. Haer’Dalis leaped forward and plunged his sword upwards, beneath the heavy plate and between the ribs. Another Harmonium guard swung at him as the youth fell to the floor, but Haer’Dalis easily dodged the clumsy attack. He cast a spell of swiftness on himself and raced forward, his footsteps as quick as lightning. His swords darted in and out, slashing throats and exposed skin as he danced between the hardheads. 

More Harmonium guards replaced those he felled, it seemed as if two guards sprouted up from the ashes of every dead hardhead. His shoulder was beginning to hurt enough to affect his left sword arm, he tried to shake it off but he was certain that he had lost a great deal of blood. Haer’Dalis’ grip weakened, he struggled to keep hold of his sword. 

He cast a quick protection spell on himself and forged forward, wading into the sea of Harmonium guards streaming through the crushed gates. He was a blaze of steel blue hair and sharp blades, he dodged most attacks and his elven armor deflected those he didn’t. He blinked hard to try to clear the blurriness in his vision, a black shadow had begun to creep into the edges of his sight. A mace caught him off guard and slammed into his head, knocking him on his back. Dazed, he slid backwards across the floor, away from the gate. Other Doomguard rushed forward in his place, giving him enough time to leap back onto his unsteady feet. The room was wobbling now, the floor felt like a ship in a storm and he struggled to keep his legs from buckling.

He stumbled forward, blood streaming from the wound on his head. His steps faltered, but still he kept himself upright, his arms shook as he lifted them to protect himself from incoming blows. 

“There you are,” a smooth voice purred from behind him. _Zem_. He turned on unsteady feet to face her.

“I told Roth not to bring you back here, I knew you’d ruin everything,” she hissed.

Haer’Dalis struggled to remain standing. Blood was running down his face and armor, drops of it splashed on the ground at his feet. “It is...a bit...late for regrets, is it...not?” he said between rattling breaths.

Zem smirked at him and stepped forward. A flash of metal glinted in the dim light of the armory. 

“We gave you the opportunity to join us, to lead the Doomguard into a new era.” She was close to him now, her face only inches from his. “I can’t let you threaten everything we’ve worked for, not now, when we are so close.” He could see the anger burning in her deep brown eyes. 

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The blade moved so quickly he could barely feel it, this time it pierced the rings of his armor and slid between his ribs. The room distorted as he fell to the floor, his eyes were fixed on Zem but he wasn’t looking at her. A different woman was standing before him, her black hair blown by a soft breeze, her green eyes shining beneath dark brows. She stared back at him, unmoving, as he felt the last of his blood stream out onto the stones beneath him. 

He let his head roll back and his eyes slowly shut as the sounds of the battle around him grew more distant. The room felt colder, his heartbeat slowed, the steady thud grew softer. He let death wash over him, he did not struggle against it.

 _Oblivion_.

\---------

Devland and Nagual are two of the four Doomlords. They do not agree with hastening entropy.


End file.
